Home > Machiavellian (Gangsters of New York, #1)(53)

Machiavellian (Gangsters of New York, #1)(53)
Author: Bella Di Corte

“Keely,” I said. “Don’t apologize for something you didn’t do. And I understand why she feels that way.”

“Not entirely, but still. It’s not right. You have to know that I would never feel that way.”

“I do.” I stood taller and kissed her cheek. “Now go take your seat. I think we’re about to start.”

Stop fidgeting. Stop fidgeting. Stop fidgeting. Stop fidgeting.

After Keely had gone, it was all I could do. I kept fidgeting with the cross in front of the bouquet.

Uncle Tito came out of the doors, and when he saw me, he stopped. He placed a hand over his heart and mimicked the beating. Fast. I had fallen in love with him just as much as I had fallen in love with Nonno.

After Capo and I had returned from our walk in the groves, he said he had business to attend to and that I should get a good night’s sleep. I couldn’t. So I sat around with the family and enjoyed another hour or so with them.

Before I got up to leave, Uncle Tito had taken a seat next to me. He took my hand, held it close to his heart, and asked if I would give him the honor of allowing him to walk me down the aisle.

My mouth had fallen open.

How had he known?

I caught Capo’s shape in the distance. It almost seemed blue from all of the torches surrounding us. He had been watching us.

“It would be my honor, farfalla,” Uncle Tito had said, calling me butterfly in Italian. “Because my wife and I were not gifted with the ability to have children, I will never have the chance to walk a daughter down the aisle. This would mean a great deal to me.”

My answer came in the form of the bone-crushing hug I’d given him. He was an angel disguised as a doctor.

“Farfalla,” he breathed, bringing me back to the moment. “I am thankful to God for one blessing on this day. That I have eyes that see you in this moment.” He took my hand and kissed my knuckles softly. “It is a great honor to be at your side.”

No one had ever touched me deep enough to make me cry out of happiness. I couldn’t help but wonder if it was because this one, small man had touched me that deep, or if I was starting to soften because my feelings were not buried as deep as they once were. I wasn’t as afraid of them getting bruised and battered, used and tattered, twisted into something nasty and horrible. Something owed.

My time in Italy had changed me.

My time with him had changed me.

A soft voice in the church began to sing.

It was time.

I took a deep breath in and sighed it out.

Uncle Tito lowered my veil before he offered me his arm. I looped mine with his, using his strength to keep me upright.

Hundreds of people.

Hundreds.

All watching.

Waiting.

To see me.

The doors to the church opened, and hundreds of people stood. When we took a step forward, a collective, soft gasp seemed to fill the air.

All eyes were on me.

But there was only one set that I looked for.

His.

Candles lit the way, the evening sun giving way to darkness, and the soft light went straight through the material of my gown, like candlelight goes through a mosaic in church. It highlighted all of the lines on the fabric. All of the struggles the butterfly goes through to reach a state of living.

Capo met us before we made it to the altar. He shook Uncle Tito’s hand, but before Uncle Tito let go, he told him, “I have taken responsibility for this beautiful girl; you will take responsibility for this beautiful woman for the rest of your life.” Capo grinned at him and patted him on the back. Uncle Tito lifted my veil and placed a soft kiss on my cheek before he sat with his wife, Aunt Lola.

Capo offered me his hand and I took it, never gladder to be physically connected to him. His confidence fed mine, keeping my steps steady. I kept my head up, but I wanted more than anything to wipe the tear away from my cheek. I had no idea when it happened, but it had. I didn’t want anyone to see.

Glancing up at Capo, I thought, let him see.

Let him see the good and the bad, the dirty and the clean, the ugly and the beautiful, the happy and the sad.

Let him see me. All of me.

Dare to live.

This was me daring to live, to show someone who I really was. To allow them past the surface and into the secret depths that used to be mine alone.

“Bocelli,” Capo whispered as we made our way to the waiting priest.

“And Pausini.” I grinned, squeezing his hand. “I wanted to keep my head on straight. Get my mind right.”

When we stopped in front of the priest, I turned to Capo and he turned to me. He took both of my hands in his.

All the words were spoken. All the promises were made.

He slipped a new ring on my finger, a diamond and sapphire band. I slipped his wedding ring back on, the one I had given him in New York. Il mio capo.

Before the priest announced us as husband and wife, Capo leaned in and used his lips to collect another tear that had fallen from my eye, and as the priest said the final words, he reached my mouth and kissed my lips, sealing the everlasting deal.

Tutto suo. Tutto mio. Per sempre.

All his. All mine. Forever.

 

 

Thousands of butterflies fluttered around us, small bursts of color exploding in the night air. All of the flower arrangements, thousands of orange blossoms, were misted with butterfly nectar. Maybe they’d all have a drink before they flexed their wings and took off for wherever they were headed. A blue butterfly landed on my shoulder before it flew to another spot.

It was a surprise from Capo. So was what we were doing in that moment.

“I didn’t realize we were doing this,” I said.

My husband moved me on the dance floor that had been set up behind the property of his grandfather’s villa. Hundreds of people watched as we enjoyed our first dance as marito e moglie.

His eyes were steady on mine even though we swayed. “You do for me. I do for you.”

“Ah.” I smiled. “Bocelli for this chick.” Capo never referred to the singer by her name, only this chick.

He had requested the song we’d listened to in the car on our way to Harrison’s as our “first song.” When it first started playing, I’d exploded with laughter, thinking he was playing a joke on me. With his hand held out, he gave me a narrow look, so I took it, and there we were. Moving to the tune he’d once said should be on a Tim Burton soundtrack.

“You know what this means, right?” He twirled me out, and then I came back into his body with a soft whooo. He was a smooth operator when he danced. My left hand pressed against his chest, and the new band there sparkled like his eyes. It was simple, delicate, matching the engagement ring, but not as heavy. “Your head’s not going to be on straight for the rest of the night. All of your screws are going to be loose. Like mine.”

His grin came slow. “That’s the way it’s supposed to be. Your head is supposed to be on straight for the ceremony, but for the reception—” He shrugged, his broad shoulders stretching the fine, custom-made suit. “You’re supposed to get a little wild. It’s a celebration.”

It was.

I’d never been to such a fun party before. Hundreds of people ate, laughed, and danced. I was starting to understand what Scarlett had meant by wishing a night would never end.

I wished for a magical glass jar.

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